


Peaceful Coexistence

by Destina



Category: X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-25 18:48:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9838868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Destina/pseuds/Destina
Summary: They first met again six months later in Paris, aftersomeonestopped the Eiffel Tower from falling on a group of panicked tourists. It was ridiculous really, the way Erik seemed to show off for the bystanders, and tried to hide from them.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This picks up immediately after the ending of X-Men: Days of Future Past, because I didn’t like Apocalypse much, so I decided to fix things to my own satisfaction. This story disregards XMA canon entirely. I have no idea about any of the comics canon, so this is definitely AU from that. 
> 
> Many thanks to Alby Mangroves for her wise beta advice, and for her encouragement. If you find any lingering mistakes, those are my fault. Revisions, y'know.

I.

**December 1973**

They first met again six months later in Paris, after _someone_ stopped the Eiffel Tower from falling on a group of panicked tourists. It was ridiculous really, the way Erik seemed to show off for the bystanders, and tried to hide from them. There was no way the man who dropped an entire stadium where he wanted it in America's capital city - the most wanted man in the world, and Charles was _quite_ sure that thought soothed Erik's ego, from time to time - would ever escape notice, even in Paris. And yet, he managed to slip away from oblivious crowds as if he were water sliding across stones. 

Charles scrutinized the grainy black and white photo when he read the morning papers: Erik was there in a soft-looking sweater, cap pulled low across his brow, his left hand outstretched and a tiny smile curled at the corner of his lips. MAGNETO STOPS MUTANT TERRORISTS, SAVES LIVES! screamed the headline indignantly.

"We're going to need the plane," he said to Hank, whose fur rose in silent protest, then settled with resignation.

The Xavier estate owned four apartments in Paris, but Erik had only seen one of them, a tiny place tucked into the corner of an old building in the Marais. They'd stopped there before the disastrous Peace Accords, just long enough to freshen up and retrieve a car. The place still retained the vestiges of opulence Erik had so disdained, with its decadent brocaded upholstery and silk carpets. For Charles, money had long ago ceased to have any importance except as a means to an end; the rich surroundings meant little to him, other than convenience. Besides, the apartment was too small to accommodate his wheelchair, which had not been a consideration, previously. 

With Hank's help, he settled for sitting comfortably on the couch beside the cheerful fire. Dawn was breaking as he swept his consciousness out into the City of Light, skimming past hundreds of people crowding the streets. A large number of them were staring at the Eiffel Tower, marveling at the strangely decorative steelwork which rooted it once again to its destroyed foundation. Gently, he sent a message out, reaching as far as he dared across the city. _Erik. Lovely work you've done on the Tower. Do stop by tonight and tell me all about it._

It was only two hours before the knock at the door -- two hours Charles spent pretending to read academic journals without absorbing a single bit of their content. Hank pulled the narrow door open wide and scowled at Erik, who was wearing that same fitted, dove-grey sweater from the news photos. Charles ached to touch it, and what was beneath it. It was an old desire, which burned brighter with time despite the hurts and betrayals which should have cooled its flames. He doubted he would ever rid himself of those feelings; he no longer pondered why he had never wasted time trying. 

"Beast," Erik said, and smiled faintly when Hank's scowl deepened in return. He turned his gaze on Charles, and it was as it always was with them - no one else in the room, or even in the city, when Erik's eyes settled on him. That perceptive gaze missed nothing, gliding over the wheelchair clumsily slotted into the corner, the piles of papers, and the chess set, half-hidden beneath the blanket Charles had thrown on the table. 

"Could you give us some privacy, Hank?" Charles smiled what he hoped was a reassuring smile. Hank's lip curled unhappily, but he slammed the door behind him as he headed down the hall to his own accommodations. 

And then they were together, with the weight of years and anger and regret in the room with them, as present and real as a third party spilling the tea. 

"May I?" Erik said, gesturing toward the empty end of the sofa. 

"Of course," Charles answered. He gathered as much of the paper and other detritus into his arms as he could manage, and leaned down to set it on the floor. Erik was there presently, helping him to stack it into neat piles. Then he pulled off his cap and coat and sat down, as graceful and restrained as ever. 

Charles looked him over in turn. There were lines of weariness on Erik's face, and he seemed thinner. Charles brushed over the surface of Erik's mind, enough to cause Erik to raise an eyebrow, but did not delve in. He withdrew to his own mind quietly, having reassured himself that Erik was all right. 

"Really, that was rather foolish," Charles said. 

"There's no pleasing you, is there?" Erik asked. "All those humans below would be flat as a pancake if I had let the thing fall when the one who calls himself Chaos knocked it down." 

"Not that," Charles said. "Coming here in broad daylight. Anyone could have seen you."

Erik shrugged. "They couldn't have taken me."

"No doubt that is true." For a moment Charles thought of discussing the foolishness of provoking a fight, but struggle and conflict were natural to Erik. It would have been akin to asking the sun why it felt compelled to burn the skin of humans caught in its light. Instead he shifted on the sofa, pulling his legs up with both hands. Erik's face was very still in that moment, but the regret which poured from him was stronger than ever - regret, and longing, both of which Charles chose to ignore. 

"I expected you to look for me before now," Erik said. He picked up a metal-based chess piece from the table, one of the knights, and turned it in looping circles in the air. "To join the hunt, perhaps, having thought better of letting me go."

"I did," Charles said. "And I found you." 

The piece halted in mid-air, and Erik breathed out, frowning. "Cerebro?"

"Yes. I'm afraid you were rather easy to locate without that dreadful helmet in the way."

"Have you held onto it for me, Charles?" Erik's grin was not friendly, and not especially pleasant. 

"Oh good heavens no, why would I want to tempt you in that way? It is far beyond your reach now. It's better this way; even I don't know precisely where it is, so I can't be of any use to you in finding it." 

"You never could stand it when I locked you out." There was wary fear thrumming through Erik's mind now. 

"You've never needed to worry about locking me out. I made you a promise long ago, and I've kept it, as best as I was able."

"Except to lift girders and save yourself."

"That's a bit unfair, don't you think? You owed me that much, and more," Charles shot back, and was gratified when Erik sank back into the cushions, blinking. 

Erik tilted his head to the side. "How was it, inside my head? Controlling my power for that moment?"

"Different to what I remembered," Charles said. "A decade ago, your rage controlled you. There was so much rage in you, Erik. So much pain. It was like swimming in tar, trying to find the brightness in you. But now..." Charles struggled for the right words. "It's a dark but serene sea. I knew you had untapped potential before Cuba...but so much power, Erik. There is no one who can match it." 

"You handed me the key," Erik said. "Ten years of silence and solitude was more than enough time to turn the lock and set myself free."

"Between rage and serenity," Charles murmured. Erik's power had been beautiful to feel, to touch with his mind. He had not dared to stay there long, lest he become mired in it, and give up all sense of himself. It was a seductive pull, because it was Erik, and because Charles had never felt another power to match it. 

"Yes." Erik studied him, and Charles had the uncanny feeling that Erik was as much a telepath as Charles was, where it came to seeing Charles' emotions. 

So he went on, because that's why he had come. "Your power can't protect you from telepaths, however. I was a bit concerned that even a Class 2 telepath would be able to find you, given enough time in your general vicinity. The CIA has two or three on the payroll now. Even a Class 3, or so I'm told. So I..." Charles waggled his fingers, and Erik's frown deepened. 

"What did you do to me?"

"Nothing intrusive, I promise you. I muffled your natural tendencies to broadcast your emotions when you're angry. I made you...less you, to an outside observer." 

"I'm not sure whether to thank you, or knock you into next Tuesday." 

"Well, I think we both know you'd have a distinct advantage in that fight." It came out a bit sharper than intended, and Charles sighed. He hadn't come to Paris to dredge the river of old grievances. 

They sat in silence for long moments, and though he didn't pry, Charles could sense Erik's thoughts skittering about, dancing over a dozen or so topics he would rather Charles not bring up. Among them, Erik's plans, and his recruitment efforts, and whether he'd seen Mystique. Charles bit his lip and looked away, and Erik straightened in his seat. 

"Stop it, Charles. Just ask me your questions."

"You don't want me to ask you. That's what you're thinking about now, in fact - how long it will take me to move on to the difficult questions."

"Are there any questions between us that aren't difficult?" Erik asked. 

"Not anymore."

"Not ever," Erik shot back. "Did we ever have a conversation that wasn't loaded with our own histories, weighted down by our agendas?"

There had been a discussion about roses, in the gardens, and Erik's shoulder warm against Charles's. He remembered a night of too much champagne, speaking of what it must be like to fly, Charles with wistful joy and Erik with intent. And there was an evening sprawled on the floor by the fire discussing literature, and Erik's hand briefly brushing the hair from Charles's eyes before retreating. Charles had wanted the touch to linger, and it was only Erik's confused fear which kept him from returning that gentle gesture. 

"I like to think so," Charles said softly. 

Erik lifted his hand, and the windows drifted open, letting in the street sounds below. "You haven't asked me why I saved them," Erik said. 

"I presume you'll tell me precisely what you want me to know, and no more." 

"Aren't you the tiniest bit curious?"

"Of course." 

"I don't hate the humans, Charles." Erik was watching him, the way he used to watch new mutants - with curiosity, to see what reaction his words might bring. "Does that surprise you?"

"It's disingenuous of you, old friend." Charles met his gaze steadily. "A hate as strong as the one you've nurtured all your life doesn't simply dissipate into nothing." 

"No." Erik tilted his head, listening to the chatter below. "But there are other ways. New strategies for an old problem." 

If Charles hadn't known better, he might have said the sudden swell of emotion in his chest was hope, the kind he hadn't felt since the moment Erik tried to kill Raven. "You're planning on killing them subtly, then?"

"Oh ye of little faith."

"Faith is an abstract concept, which requires a foundation of belief," Charles said, and let the implications flow across the room, ripples in a vast, black pond. 

"Let's just say I'm not oblivious to the potential of second chances." 

"Really?" Now Charles' brow arched, and he snorted a laugh. "Since when?"

Erik didn't answer. Instead, his gaze traveled over Charles' useless legs, lingering on them as if he could move them by his will. Charles beat back the flare of temper which rushed to the surface. It wouldn't do to shut Erik down now. "That door is closed, my friend," he said softly. "Of all the things which might be different in this new world, this one won't change." 

There was no mistaking the sorrow in Erik's eyes, strangely out of place on his otherwise stoic face. Charles had long made a study of that face, of the impassive detachment on the surface which masked the storms beneath. It was breathtaking to see that sorrow now, to see it linger, and not be quickly hidden beneath the mask. 

Charles looked away, before he did something ridiculous; he'd given up the tears years ago. 

When Charles had composed himself enough to look up again, Erik held up one of the Paris newspapers littered over the room. "This was unavoidable, I'm afraid, but it won't do. I must be the rotten apple in a barrel of otherwise beautiful mutants. I can't have the world start to believe otherwise." 

Charles frowned, and then suddenly, it all came clear in a rush. "The potential of second chances," he breathed. "You mean to be the reminder - the threat of destruction, and the focus of their hatred." 

"The world has its hero, and quite a capable one at that. But the story still needs a villain." Erik's cool gaze assessed him. "If there is to be a future different from the one Logan was sent here to erase." 

"Erik..."

"I'll allow for the possibility that in the future we have supposedly averted, Magneto's methods did not accomplish the goals we both hoped for - the protection of our kind," Erik said. "If you'll allow that apparently, your methods did not work as intended, either." 

"When I touched my future self's mind, there was a part of him that wanted so badly to acknowledge that you were right about the danger humankind represented," Charles said. "But he never believed, even at the end, that your methods were right, even if his own were wrong." 

"I'm not capable of being less than I am, and you aren't capable of being something you don't believe in." Erik sent the knight tumbling around the room. "Anything we do separately will bring us back to those paths, and you know it." 

"The man you are in Logan's world tried to kill me, once. For the cause." Erik's eyes flicked down, then back to Charles' face. "More than the incident on the beach. And he watched me die."

"I thought Logan said you and I had sent him back together?" 

"We did. I can't explain it because Logan doesn't really know the answer, or how the Professor returned to them alive." 

"So many points of divergence," Erik murmured. The knight began turning in midair again, graceful loops without pattern. Erik folded his hands together, knuckles turning white at the pressure. "If you had told me on the beach that you couldn't feel your legs, I would not have left you there."

Charles couldn't help it; some part of him reached out for Erik at that moment, before he could catch himself. Where resistance should have been, there was only welcome, and the cracked shutters of memory, through which Charles could sense the howling chasm of regret and grief Erik had never quite climbed away from. Even after so many years, the darkness of it was deep, and the vastness of love suffused every corner of the memory. 

He wanted to say Erik's name, but he found he could not speak, as the knight slipped between his fingers, into his waiting hand.

"So much foolishness," Charles said. The knight was warm in his grasp. "You were selfish, Erik. Selfish in pursuit of your goals, of your agenda." 

"And you were arrogant enough to believe you could change me." Erik smiled. "We were well-matched."

"On the contrary, we were ill-suited." Charles could feel Erik drawing the shutters of his mind closed, and the loss was unbearable. He straightened. "But that was a long time ago. There are, as you say, points of divergence." 

"New strategies." 

They looked at each other for a long moment, and all the chess pieces rose into the air, waiting to settle into their proper positions. Erik picked up the board and set it on the cushions between them, and the pieces dropped gently down onto their respective squares. 

Charles set the knight in its place, and noticed Erik had given himself white, and Charles black. He let Erik feel his amusement, and absorbed the answering ripple of wry pleasure when Erik pushed his pawn forward two spaces with an outstretched finger. 

It was a new game, and the old gambits would no longer be useful. 

"We are left with two possibilities," Charles said. "Attack the problem together, figuratively speaking, or..."

"Work together, but apart." 

Charles swallowed hard. "Those two options could be one and the same, if handled correctly."

"I'm glad you see it that way," Erik said. "Because you may have noticed, I have already positioned myself to be the focus of the world's anger."

"So you have." Charles made his move. "But we do nothing without discussing it first. Nothing, Erik, I mean it - the first time I find you have taken on something without my knowledge, recruited a mutant with vengeance on his mind and encouraged him to take it - we will no longer be on the same path." 

They played in silence for long minutes, Charles sipping his tea and Erik thinking, though there was nothing but quiet contemplation on his face. 

"Hank believes that no matter what we do, there's no chance of changing the path," Charles said softly. "But I don't believe that - I can't believe it. Because I have faith in you, I have-"

"You found your faith misplaced twice before," Erik said simply. "I can't promise the third result will be much different."

"I've never asked you to promise to be less than you are."

"No. You haven't." 

They played for two hours, a superficial game, one which both of them had mapped in their minds within the first few moves. It was the pure enjoyment of strategy which kept them going, the small talk about Paris, and the way the very air between them shimmered with possibilities. With hope, Charles would say, if not for the fact that Erik would call him a ridiculous romantic. 

Some truths, Charles was prepared to bear. 

When Erik stood and pulled on his coat, Charles wished again that he might stand, that they could be face to face for that moment. But there wasn't a feel of finality, any more than there was a feel of resolution. Just a moment in time, nothing more; one of many gone by and yet to come. 

"It may be some time before we see each other again," Erik said. "But I will be in touch."

"Be well, Erik," Charles said softly. A moment later, the couch was rising, floating in mid-air as gently as the chess pieces had done. It wasn't quite right to say Erik stole the kiss, because Charles would have given it freely. Not a capture, either; not quite. Just a moment of possession, of Erik's mouth on his own, warm and near-familiar.

"The next move is yours, old friend," Erik said softly. His fingertips drifted across Charles's cheek - a moment only, and then the door was closing behind him, and the couch settled to the ground as soft as a feather. 

Charles smiled. "Hank," he called, well aware Beast was hovering just out of sight. "Let's go home." 

II. 

**1974 - The New York Post**

_Meteor Explodes Over New York, Rains Down Destruction  
Magneto Suspected!_

"Weird how that meteor just disintegrated into those little tiny fragments just as Erik was trying to fling it into the Empire State Building," Hank said, crunching a mouthful of toast as he scanned the newspapers. 

"Isn't it," Charles said. He reached for the jam and spread it over his own toast. Tucked into his pocket, a stainless steel keychain replica of the Statue of Liberty was a pleasant weight, with a fragment of otherworldly metal twisted gently around the chain. 

**1975 - Newsweek**

_Missiles Fizzle Over Grand Canyon - Magneto Foiled Again?_

"Foiled is such a melodramatic word," Hank said. He frowned at Charles in a particularly knowing way as he crumpled the Newsweek article. 

"I heartily concur," Charles said. He whisked the magazine away and chucked it into the fire burning merrily in the study. On the mantelpiece, a rough, red pebble hid behind a Lalique vase and two Fabergé eggs. 

**1975 - The Los Angeles Times**

_Train Derails Near Nuclear Site  
Passengers Survive In What Government Calls 'Miracle' _

"This is getting ridiculous," Raven said, as she held out the tiny piece of paper on which, Charles assumed, he would find a message he'd awaited from Erik. Of course, he'd never expected Raven to be the one to deliver it, but every plan held its share of surprises and delights. 

"I would ask what brings you here, but I already know." 

"You have no idea, Charles, you arrogant ass. Did you know what he was doing?" she demanded, flinging the paper at him. 

"I have no earthly idea what you're-"

"You did," she said, staring at him. "Oh my god, you did. You're in it together. You assholes. Do you know I almost killed him in Nevada? I-" She stopped suddenly, her expression transforming from irritation to alarm. "No, Charles, he's just fine, I realized what he was doing right before I broke his neck," she said. Her warm blue hand on his arm brought Charles back from what felt like it might be the edges of a heart attack. "He was alive and kicking when I left him." 

"I wondered, when there was no mention of him," Charles murmured. "Usually there's some indignant finger-pointing in the press." 

"Well, this time he was in a bed, recovering, so he couldn't make appearances and throw stuff around. He had a piece of metal through his side. Let's not even go into the irony." She pointed to the paper. "He wanted me to send you that, and tell you that the weapons which were on that train are secured in a cave at those coordinates."

"We'll retrieve them at once." Charles gazed fondly at her, causing her scowl to deepen. "You're looking very well, Raven."

"It's Mystique," she said automatically, but at that moment she was transforming back to the familiar form Charles had known since he was a child. 

"You needn't," he said, gesturing at her lovely pale blue summer dress. "I want you to be as you're most comfortable." 

She narrowed her eyes at him. "This is getting too weird for me. What I want to know is, how are you protecting these kids you have here? The word is going around about the school." 

"As best I can," Charles answered. They'd made security upgrades in the years since Trask. And the children had been learning to master their powers. 

"You know eventually some hostiles will show up on your doorstep, no matter how good and virtuous you seem to be. And honestly, I'm questioning everything I ever believed about you in that regard. Anyway, you need to teach them to fight."

"Perhaps." Charles smiled at her. "Are you looking for a job?"

"You make me insane," she informed him. After a moment, she stormed past him into the mansion, and Charles struggled not to crow with delight. 

When he looked at the small piece of paper, he noticed the elegant doodles around the edges: children, trooping along in a row, each towing a missile, and one small tot was blue. 

**1976 - The Chicago Tribune**

_Orphanage Burns To Ground; Children Scattered Into Streets_

Charles was used to all manner of strays showing up at the school. But this one...she was more like a frightened colt, and would not let anyone near her. 

"She asked for you at the gate," Hank said softly, as they watched her walking circles in the garden, stopping to pet the roses like kittens. "She said Erik sent her." 

"Erik, really?" Charles could not help but be intrigued; surely Erik had sent his fair share to find new homes at the mansion, but never any as powerful as this girl. Charles could feel the emotion bleeding from her like tendrils of mist in the very air, and he suspected that if he were to touch her, she would know everything he was feeling, perhaps better than he knew himself. 

When he approached her, she backed away into the hedges, her eyes wide and green. "You're him," she whispered in a trembling voice. 

"I'm Charles Xavier, and I hear you've come to see me," Charles said. "What's your name?"

"Amelia." When Charles tentatively brushed against her mind, she let out a gasp. Charles immediately withdrew. Only the most sensitive persons could tell he was sifting through their thoughts, and she clearly was one of those. "You are him," she said wonderingly. 

All Charles could offer her by way of response was a reassuring smile. "You said Erik Lehnsherr sent you here?"

"Yes." Amelia swallowed visibly. "He said you could help me. Everyone I touch - who touches me - I know everything they're feeling. Sometimes even when I don't touch them. It's making me crazy." Her voice broke, and she pressed further into the hedges. "I made Mr. Lehnsherr angry when I touched him." 

"I can imagine," Charles said softly. "Erik doesn't like for anyone to know how deeply he feels things." 

"No." She shuddered. "But I knew I could trust you, once I'd seen." 

For a moment, Charles considered passing that statement by, but he had a distinct weakness for all information regarding Erik. "Once you'd seen...?"

"He hates the people who want to hurt the ones he loves," she said. "The Nazis. And the humans, some of them. But you." Her eyes filled with tears. "He would burn down the world if someone tried to hurt you." 

"I wouldn't want that," Charles said, resenting his own heart for the swell of complicated, sentimental joy those words brought him. 

"He knows," Amelia said. Her eyes flicked to the wheelchair. "It's why he hasn't done it." She met his eyes. "It's why he sends the ones he finds to you instead of keeping them for himself."

Charles cleared his throat. In her mind, he caught the wisps of tenderness Erik felt for him. It had been so long since he'd seen Erik; sometimes, his absence was unbearable. But it was their unspoken bargain, and it kept children like these as safe as he could make them. 

"Come," Charles said, holding out his hand. "Let's get you a sandwich and some milk, and then we'll see your room. Would you like that?"

"Yes," the child replied, with a tentative smile. Her tiny hand slipped into his, the brightest gift of hope Erik could ever send. 

**1976 - The San Francisco Chronicle**

_Plane drops from sky! Magneto Flees The Scene!_

"You know, it's the strangest thing," Peter said. "You get a dad, and you think, wow, this is going to be great! And instead, it's the most awkward series of father-son talks in the world. Like, 'Son, do you think you might try pulling the iron out of someone's blood one day, just to see if it can be done?' 'No, Dad, I think I might just run around the world two or three times in an hour instead. Maybe take a detour to unload some lethal viruses from an armored transport plane.' Shit like that." 

Charles laughed as he pictured Erik's pained expression. For all his protectiveness of his fellow mutants, particularly the children, he had difficulty picturing Erik in the role of father figure. 

"So I think I'll stay here a while? If that's okay with you." Peter hesitated, as if unsure of his welcome, which was really intolerable. He was family, after all, and certainly a part of their team.

"It's fine, just fine. I've been hoping you'd make your home here with us, eventually. And your father has as well." Charles patted his hand. "Now, let's discuss where you've hidden those canisters."

**1977 - The Orlando Sentinel**

_Bomb Levels SCI-COM - Magneto Missing, Presumed Dead_

Charles pressed the heel of his hand into his forehead and tried to control its trembling as he listened to Erik's voice on the other end of the line. "Charles, really, it's not like you to overreact. I've told you-"

" _Dead_ , Erik, the papers all said you were dead. The government believed it as well," he said, and it was true, it was all true, he'd shoved his way into the heads of countless officials at all levels of the FBI and CIA, searching for any evidence Erik was still alive. Time after time, the answer had been no, and the crippling pain of their celebratory belief still infested his heart. 

"I'm always careful," Erik said softly. "Always. I have a promise to keep."

"Should I make you promise not to be reckless, then?" Charles restrained himself from flinging the phone across the room, because then he couldn't hear Erik's account of what had gone wrong, and how the blame this time rested on his shoulders. 

"I simply didn't catch the plot in time. By the time I arrived and began pulling the device apart, it was too late. And really, Charles, I did contain the explosion; what more could you ask of me?"

"Oh, I don't know, to not be so close to the bomb to begin with?" Now all of Charles was shaking. 

"This is the bargain we made," Erik said. "The blame must be mine. Always. And we discussed this, we-"

"Come home," Charles said abruptly. "Come here. Now."

"I can't. They are always watching the mansion and grounds after an incident where I'm the suspect. You're never going to be free of that, unfortunately." 

"I don't care. Come here, Erik. I need to see you." No impulse had ever been so strong as the desire to put his hands on Erik in that moment. 

"You don't need to see me. Feel me," Erik said, and it was as clear an invitation as Charles had ever had. He dropped the phone and closed his eyes, and in an instant he was inside Erik's chaotic, shining mind, wrapped in its elegant framework, enclosed by the superficial layers of consciousness and touching the core of him, where all the warmth was hidden. 

_I'm well, old friend._

Charles let himself linger there, and then forced himself to pull away; it was a gift freely given, but not to be taken advantage of. Erik's regret tugged at him; it was gratifying to know Erik had needed the touch of Charles' mind as much as Charles had needed to touch him. 

He picked up the receiver. "When?" he asked. 

"Soon," Erik said, another promise in a long succession of truths which bound them. 

III. 

**November 1977**

_You must leave now, my friend. They are coming for you._

Charles knew the moment Erik jerked awake to the warning from Charles in his mind - the wave of emotion which greeted him was fear. When he focused, narrowed his senses down, he quickly understood that Charles was not in danger, nor his students. It was Erik; Interpol was on the trail, and within moments, they would find him in Dublin. 

_Go now to this location; Logan will bring you to me._

He waited until he sensed understanding in Erik, and then he withdrew again, keeping his respectful distance. 

It was an agonizing day, waiting for the jet to arrive. Erik was in excellent hands; Logan was a virtual stranger, one without the weight of history that had made him seem so wise when they met in service to the larger goal of changing the future, but he was reliable, and would bring Erik safely back to New York. 

Given that Erik's last action toward Logan had been to impale and drown him, it was lucky for them all that Charles inspired loyalty in the face of such implacable violence. 

Towards dusk, Charles made a decision, one he hadn't consciously considered until that moment. It had been four long years, and he needed - no, he wanted - this one last time. Just once more. He took the small vial from its hiding place and injected three quarters of the dosage - enough to blunt his powers and heighten the sensation in his lower spine. And then he maneuvered himself up on a cane with a wince and hobbled to the lawn, to greet Erik as he emerged from the plane. 

"Are you insane?" Erik demanded, before he had even descended the ramp. Even with his powers temporarily diminished, Charles could feel the waves of concern flowing from Erik, and his relief when Charles touched his mind to reassure.

"Don't scold," Charles said, making his way forward. It was more difficult than he remembered, but he was able to stand there on his own terms, toe to toe with Erik, close enough to see the fine lines beside his eyes, and the way his stern mouth softened as he watched Charles smile. "I thought-"

Mercifully, Erik put an end to any further thinking; kisses were a most effective means of ending conversation. Or beginning them; Charles thought perhaps the order was undetermined at that point. Erik was as strong as he remembered, and the tailored coat he was wearing far softer than Charles would have believed. 

"Welcome home," Charles said. 

"Temporarily," Erik answered, his sideways glance stern and reproving as he took Hank's hand and shook it. 

"Erik," Hank said, in the way one might say 'garbage' and 'unfounded scientific theory.'

"You let him get away with too much," Erik said. "He looks exhausted." 

"He's a grown man," Hank said affably. "Like you, he does whatever the hell he wants and fuck the consequences." 

Erik offered Charles his arm, though the look he gave Hank promised conversations out of Charles' earshot, for a later time. The thought cheered Charles, because all the items put off until later were a small guarantee that Erik would remain with them long enough for those things to occur. He let Erik feel his pleasure, and absorbed the fond exasperation in response. 

They navigated into the mansion, slow steps through largely empty hallways, and settled down to dinner in the back kitchen, where the children rarely intruded. Simple steaks and potatoes, and Charles kept his hands and his thoughts to himself. But Erik watched him, assessing, and his quiet regard was like the simmering of embers in a cold fire: always ready for life again. 

"I half expected Raven to be here to greet me," Erik said, pushing his empty plate aside. "She has such a way of making me feel welcome."

"You say such things as though you haven't brought it all on yourself over the years," Charles said. In truth he and Raven hadn't discussed it, but he wasn't surprised she had made herself scarce. There was too much history, and she and Erik had walked similar paths for too long to be friendly now. "But there are others here who will be eager to see you."

"Peter." Quiet apprehension radiated from Erik.

"And Amelia. You remember her, don't you? I'm having a difficult time keeping her from realizing you're here. She's very in tune with her surroundings." 

"It was kind of you to take her in."

"Oh come now, you knew I would." Not quite a scold, but close enough, and Erik's face crinkled with amusement. 

"I could hardly raise her myself!"

"Not then, perhaps. But now, those doors are open to you. If you wish." Just then a sharp twinge of pain spiraled up Charles's spine, and he gasped. 

"What is it?" Erik's hand was warm, his grip tight around Charles's wrist. 

"The serum is wearing off, that's all. I had hoped for a few more hours, long enough to...to greet you properly." 

"I assure you, you need not be standing for the rest of this reunion." 

Charles laughed, and then Erik's mouth covered his, startling a small pleased noise from Charles. It hardly seemed possible that it was only the second time they had kissed like this, minds looping together with no barriers. All the years they'd schemed to keep the world safe, plotted a different kind of joint world domination, and yet they'd never allowed themselves to have this. It seemed absurd, now, that it had been too dangerous - the warmth of Erik's hand curled around his neck, and the soft hungry noises he made into Charles's mouth. 

Images floated through Charles's head - possessive images, _I've waited so long, Charles_ \- and Charles pushed himself up from the chair, breaking the kiss. 

"We need privacy," he murmured, and Erik turned to lead the way. 

They were nearly to the study when it happened. The seizure threw Charles's ordered mind into chaos, splinters of consciousness peeling away from him. He heard Erik call his name, clung to that small bit of order in a sea of darkness; all he could do was drift, waiting for it to pass. 

When he woke, he was on the carpet, and Erik was holding him, cradling Charles's body against his own. 

"No more of the serum," Erik said fiercely. "You're too important."

"It was foolish, I know," Charles said. "But I wanted to meet you on my own terms, once more. As it was before I was shot." 

"It can never be as it was before that moment. Before I damaged you." Erik favored him with a wry smile. "Fortunately, you never let me damage anything important about you, no matter how hard I tried." 

"Very funny," Charles said, and in a way, it was, or would have been, if Erik's worry wasn't written so plainly on his face, and latticed across his thoughts. "I'm all right. The seizures are the warning sign, before the serum gives out entirely."

"How comforting," Erik said dryly. 

"Get me to my feet," Charles said. Erik pulled him up, holding him steady, and they moved - past the study, straight on to Charles's bedroom. Erik closed and locked the door, and then settled Charles on the bed gently. 

"You're all right?" he asked, his hands lingering on Charles' body. In answer Charles kissed him, pulling him closer with hands which hungered for the touch of his bare skin. Charles was hyper-aware of his own body, of the sensations rising and fading in his limbs; those last moments of feeling were a brutal gift, and he planned to live in those moments until they dwindled away for good. 

Erik divested him of sweater and trousers, no shame or awkwardness between them. They'd seen each other before, in hotel rooms on the road years ago; they'd been searching for the future then, trying to locate others like them. It seemed so long ago. Erik's fingers traced his hipbones, the skin stretched over his ribs; he kissed Charles's throat, and the soft ticklish spot beneath his ear, and Charles laughed quietly. Erik's answering smile was nearly worth the cost they'd paid for this time together. 

Erik pulled back and shed his own clothing without preamble, folding each item and settling the items neatly across the back of the desk chair. Charles leaned back on his hands and watched, a slow smile crossing his face. "You could at least play to an appreciative audience," he said, aware of his own body, of the way it responded to Erik's graceful movements. "Though I could suggest that you move faster. Just a nudge."

"Idle threats," Erik said, returning to stand before him so Charles could settle his hands on Erik's hips. "You have perfected those, over the years." 

"Some not-so-idle threats, as well," Charles said mildly, and leaning forward, he pressed his nose into Erik's belly, reveling in his sharp intake of breath. Erik was hard; his hands trembled where they rested at his sides. Charles drew his fingertips across Erik's palm as he took Erik into his mouth. It was bliss, the opening of doors between their minds, and Erik's beautiful hands threaded into his hair, urging him on. His thumbs trailed down Charles's face, stroking his skin, and gently over his closed eyes. 

Charles moved slowly, his tongue tracing patterns on Erik's cock, pulling sounds from Erik's throat which made Charles shiver. He looked up to see Erik's head thrown back, chest flushed and nipples hard; his heartbeat pounded strong against Charles's hand where it pressed against Erik's chest. Charles opened his mind, letting his own pleasure slip out; the flood of feeling poured from him, and Erik gasped, "Charles, you--I want--"

 _Yes._

He allowed Erik to feel everything - the sensation of Erik's body under his hands; the hard velvet of him in Charles' mouth; the pure erotic sensation of his own cock, hard and dripping, untouched. Erik rocked into his mouth, deeper, deeper still. 

Charles could feel Erik's iron control slipping, the walls no one else could ever breach crumbling away into nothing, and so much feeling - so _much_ -

Erik came into his mouth, no warning or preamble, and Charles gripped his hips, urging him closer. "Charles," Erik said, his voice rough, panting harshly. After a long moment he pulled away and dropped to his knees between Charles's parted thighs to kiss him, to take his cock in his hand, to deepen the kiss as his hand moved faster. Charles touched his face and Erik growled impatiently, and just like that, Charles was inside - _overcome_ \- the rush of emotion his and not his, full of fire and delight, nothing cool and distant about it any longer. He lost himself in the feeling, not sure whose pleasure was greater, whose body he inhabited; they were each other's, wrapped so tightly together they might never find their way back again.

With delicate care, Charles separated their minds; he was aware of Erik's pleasure at the evidence of Charles's orgasm spread over his hand and belly. Charles turned his head and took another kiss. He had the right now; he intended to keep claiming it for as long as he was able. 

When he was satisfied, he pulled away to look at Erik's face. No longer stoic; now reflecting everything, nothing held back. "Lie down," Erik said, as he reached for his shirt. He wiped away the evidence of what they'd done, and crawled into the messy sheets beside Charles, who smiled. 

"I can have your room made up, if you'd rather-"

"Really?" Erik said, raising an eyebrow in his direction. "Let's at least not pretend you haven't pillaged my mind for everything you could get in the last five minutes."

"That was absolutely not the goal," Charles said, still smiling. "And it was your heart, really, not your mind." 

"You're insufferable," Erik said. He lifted his hand and most of the metal in the room shifted consistency, forming thin tendrils of molten material, which Erik molded into thin bars over the inside of the door. 

"Is that really necessary?"

"You're going to get some sleep, and no cranky child or man-beast is going to interrupt it." 

"You're locked in here with me, though," Charles said slyly. "Not conducive to sleep."

"I can control myself for the duration." Erik tucked himself in at Charles's side. "I do have your best interests at heart."

"About that," Charles said. He turned his face, to meet Erik's serious eyes. "The world has no need of you to be its greatest villain any longer. There are so many others."

"So your plan is that I should live a life of quiet obscurity?"

"Would that be so bad?" Charles asked. 

"I'll always be hunted," Erik said quietly. "I can't bring that on you, or this school." 

"You can disappear here. Become anyone. No one has seen your face in years - certainly not these children. Your crimes - have you started to think of them as your crimes yet? - can't be erased, even if the world knew of the good you've done since, but giving of yourself to these children is a way back to who you once were." 

Erik sighed, and took Charles's hand in his. "We will never come to an agreement on this, Charles." 

"No more hiding," Charles said. "That was what you wanted, once. There's irony in the fact that none of us are hiding; you will be the only one."

"I'm not certain you'll want me to teach what I think needs to be taught." 

"I'm open to it," Charles said. "Ask Raven." 

That earned him another raised brow. "I shall."

"In the morning," Charles said sleepily. He nestled closer to Erik. "While you're deciding, I'm going to take my fill of you."

Erik's arm slid around him, holding him close; they were in silent accord. 

Charles drifted toward sleep, the picture of a chess board in his mind - the pieces in continuous motion in service to a perpetual draw, until they came to rest at last.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been lurking around this fandom since XMFC, and there are many story drafts on my hard drive dating back to around 2012. I guess eventually, one of them was bound to land. *g*


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